


Along the Dotted Line

by EmilyScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cuddling, Dana Scully - Freeform, Demons, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fox Mulder - Freeform, Horror, Jealousy, MSR, Mulder in trouble, Plot, Plot Twists, Relationship(s), Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Scully in Trouble, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Witches, season 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyScully/pseuds/EmilyScully
Summary: Mulder and Scully are on an investigation that requires them to travel most of the United States at once. Although Scully agrees, she is not fond of it: her mind is elsewhere and her work ethic lacks passion. The case, however, consumes the two of them and leads them to reveal their dark, and forbidden, secrets. Approx. Season 5ish.





	1. Charlie who?

**Author's Note:**

> "We laid our names to rest  
> Along the dotted line.  
> We left our date of birth  
> And our history behind."

“A _Mexican demon summoning_ , Scully,” Mulder emphasized as he placed the file before her.

“A _what_?” Scully asked as she opened the file on her crossed lap and stared at the photos of fifteen teenagers and children of varying ages, neatly paper clipped to the manila folder.

“It’s a game,” Mulder replied as he fell into his swivel chair across from his skeptical partner, whose restlessness was already making a debut, “called Charlie Charlie where kids put one pencil on top of another like a cross and ask the demon, Charlie in our case, to spin the pencil and answer questions with answers that are pre-written on a piece of paper.”  
  
Scully closed the folder and sighed, looking up at Mulder, “How is this an X-File, Mulder?”  
  
“Well, if you had taken the time to read the medical notes-“  
  
“I did read them, Mulder, and it’s just mass hysteria. Just some teenagers playing what they believe to be a demonic game like Bloody Mary and then getting scared to bits with their own response expectancy,” Scully replied, placing the folder onto his desk. “Case closed.”  
  
“Au contraire, Scully,” Mulder’s excitement grew to an obnoxious level. He loved when his partner doubted his theories and Scully was responding in the exact manner he had predicted. Mulder stood up from his desk chair and pointed at the map behind him. “These fifteen kids all ended up in the hospital with strange marks on their ribcages at the same exact time but, _get this_ , none of them have ever met before. They’re all from different states. One of them is from New Mexico, the other from Arizona, Texas, California, and even Florida.”  
  
Scully narrowed her eyes and cocked her eyebrow, leaning forward to grab the folder again to look at the location details. She mentally punched herself. She had overlooked it because she was only observing the coordinating times and assumed the teenagers were acting as a group.  
  
“See what I mean, Scully?”  
  
“And I assume you have an outlandish theory,” Scully said monotonously as she let gravity close the folder and let her eyes stare into a blank space.  
  
“Well, I think some force, probably Charlie, marked its players.”  
  
“So you believe Charlie is an actual entity of his own?” Her cerulean eyes met his and he paused for a moment under her gaze. 

“Or her own, Scully, even fictional writers like Charles Dickens had female characters named Charlie.”

“And the marks, Mulder? They could just be prescribed by the game, a step in the instruction manual.”  
  
“No,” he said, shaking his head and leaning onto the desk while standing, his two strong arms holding him up, “I read the rules, I don't think that’s it. I think the game is _causing_ it.”

Scully scoffed. “Why do you believe these crazy stories, Mulder? I mean, think about it for a second…demons? Didn’t you play games like this when you were a child? Run off into the woods, perform some crazy ritual you heard about from your classmates, and get in trouble?”  
  
“But _fifteen_ cases happening at the exact same moment? Scully, I know you took a statistics course in college. You know this data is significant.”  
  
Scully licked her lips and looked down. He had her. 

“Okay,” she said finally, meeting his gaze after a moment. “When do we leave?”

“I've got tickets out of Dulles leaving in five hours for southern California,” he said, placing her boarding pass before her, “pack a bag, we might be traveling for awhile.”  
  
~~~~~~~~

Scully packed her suitcase with the necessities and seven days worth of outfits. Mulder never specified how long the trip would last and a full week was as long as she would stay, even if he wasn’t aware of that yet. Scully zipped up her bag and rolled it out of her bedroom, placing it by the front door. Her eyes caught a glimpse of a family photo, sitting by itself on a small wooden table adjacent to the wall that the door also occupied. She approached the frame and gathered it in her hands, her fingers flicking over her mother and father. She sighed, placing the memory back to its usually forgotten and dust ridden position. When would _she_ finally have a family? A husband? Perhaps a child or maybe even two? She pushed her hair behind her ear. She wasn’t getting much younger, despite maintaining her physique as part of FBI protocol. She stared at herself in the mirror across the living room, approaching it slowly. She still looked fairly young. Her hair was a healthy, radiant auburn and her smile lines were barely visible, like soft folds in silk. If she didn't reveal it, it would be far out of anyone’s assumptions that she had endured an aggressive cancer and triumphed. She bit her lip remembering her mortality and suddenly her heart raced. She was knocking on the Grim Reaper’s door and he was answering the call. The two had a date and yet she was able to, by the grace and wild beliefs of her partner, escape that fate. She realized, with a new but, albeit, bittersweet zest, that she needed to start forging her own, personal life, outside of her work.

She straightened her blouse and and buttoned her cuffs when a loud, heavy knock sounded on her door. She turned on her heel and approached the peep hole when she heard Mulder’s voice through the wooden entrance.

“Scully, it’s me,” he sounded, raising his fist to knock once more when the door swung open to a slightly casual but nevertheless stunning Scully. His eyes skimmed her blouse: a thin, white fabric that slightly highlighted the black bra underneath. He quickly diverted his eyes and focused on her face, clearing his throat. “You, uh, ready to get out of here?”

Scully noticed his fumble and chose to ignore it, after all it was probably because he was in a hurry and she, evidently, was not. “Let me just grab a coat and we can go,” she said lightly, turning away from the door, “come in.”

Mulder wandered inside, looking around the cozy living room as he shut the door behind him. His eyes swept over the usual: the warm couch and immaculately clean living space that Scully kept. He rubbed his hands together as he attempted to recover from the already frosty Fall weather. As he passed into the living room, he caught sight of a small wooden table and a shadow of dust that didn’t perfectly line up with a Scully family photo. 

“I’m ready to go,” said Scully as she emerged from the depths of her apartment, snug in her long trench coat. 

Mulder spun to face her, “Perfect,” he smiled, grabbing her bag in one quick move. 

Scully gave a small smile, her crimson lips transforming but her eyes remaining dull. She opened the door and walked out, ahead of him and lost in her thoughts. Mulder followed behind her, shutting the door and ensuring it was locked before proceeding to the elevator. He sighed and stared down at his feet as he moved, feeling tension hang in the air between them. This tension, Mulder noted, wasn't unfamiliar and, in recent times, was becoming more frequent. Scully was distant and often removed from the cases and it wasn’t just due to her skepticism. Her enthusiasm for forensics, in any nature, was always prominent but recently even those passions were ebbing. 

Mulder gripped the suitcase tighter as they descended in the elevator and approached the government issued vehicle. He opened the door for Scully before wrapping around to the trunk and placing her suitcase next to his. He wasn't sure what to expect during this trip, of this case but more so of Scully.  He took a deep breath and placed his hand on the car handle to the drivers seat. 

Whatever would happen, he hoped she would let him in. And with that, he turned his fist.


	2. An Agent of Interest

Scully turned her attention to the rolling Californian hills below them and let her head slack against the oval aircraft window. Small cloud streaks painted the air over the vibrant green and sickly tan plots of farmland. Houses were scattered across the landscape, resembling a rural lifestyle rather than a suburban one. Scully sighed, remembering Mulder’s comment about the single family house during their case in Home, Pennsylvania. She let herself wonder, if only for a moment, whether or not she had ever crossed his mind in those moments when he considered settling down. Mulder was so often a force to be reckoned with: wildly ambitious and deeply determined that Scully wondered if his passions could ever take root at all, if they could ever find peace in a rural landscape like the one he stated were his ideals. She remembered staring at the forlorn house in Pennsylvania: lonesome, or rather singular, and silent. It was something she could grow accustomed to but had never seen him a part of. But the more Scully gave it thought, the more it made sense and the more she would need to forget pondering it. Mulder’s ambitions pushed him into a solitary confinement, and a home like that could give the fox his perfect den.

“The eldest one is sixteen, Scully,” Mulder said suddenly, pulling Scully back into reality.  
  
Scully turned to face him, only to see the case file completely spread out on his lap. “Hmm?” Scully asked, feeling a drowsiness from her daydreams cover her like a rolling fog.

“And the youngest one was….” Mulder traced his finger over the data, flipping between photographs and checking the descriptions on the back of each polaroid photo, “seven. Wow.”

Scully narrowed her eyes, “A seven year old boy?”

“Came into an ER in Burbank at the exact same time as the other fourteen kids: October 5th, 1997 at 3:33am,” he said, using her question to finish his sentence. 

“A seven year old boy wanders into a hospital alone at 3:33am on a Sunday morning, Mulder? How is that possible?” Scully questioned, reaching for the case file to examine the victim. He was a small, scrawny boy: his hair was an ash-blonde and his eyes a pale green. His expression was bewildered, like he was afraid of the men taking his photo but also confused as to where he was. Scully’s heart softened for the boy as she stared into his wide eyes.

“You're Catholic, Scully. When is the witching hour?” Mulder asked, watching as her features softened when she stared at the boy.  
  
“3 am,” Scully answered without a second thought, closing the file she was intently staring at and passing it back to Mulder in an attempt to dissociate any personal involvement.

“So it would make sense that the boy got attacked at 3am, when demons are at their strongest, and then took approximately half an hour to wander into an emergency room,” Mulder theorized, tucking the folder back into his briefcase and shoving it under his seat. 

“Mulder..” Scully sighed, looking away from him and back out the window.

“What, Scully? Doesn’t it make sense?” Mulder asked, staring at the back of her head. 

“Mulder, isn’t there something, actually, _anything_ else, you’d rather talk about?” Scully asked, turning back to him and raising both of her eyebrows in anticipation of his response.

“What, Scully? Is it your mothers birthday and I forgot to send a card?” He teased with a small smile and a playful cock of his head to the side, knowing full well that Margaret’s birthday was still months away.

Scully gave a faint hint of a smile before reverting to a frown, “We’ll be on this case for who knows how long, Mulder, can’t we enjoy the simple pleasures now? Our calm before the storm?” She nearly pleaded.

“Storm?” Mulder echoed, surprised by her interpretation of the case, “I was under the impression that you enjoyed these cases, Scully.” 

Scully held his gaze for a moment and Mulder stared back, awaiting her response but being met by nothing. He could see the gears turning in her thoughts, rolling over all the possibilities she could utter as her eyes flicked between his two pupils like a ticking clock. She clicked her tongue, finally, and let out a deep breath he didn’t realize she had been holding. “Yeah,” she uttered, softly, “I do.” Her gaze dropped to the arm rest between them, which both of them had leaned into on their side of the seat but neither had committed to occupying. He looked down at this divider and back up at the top of her head, still bent down and lost in thought. She turned her attention away from him, curling against the window and watching the view like before. “Who do we go to first when we arrive?” She asked in her usual tone.

Mulder stared after her for a beat before responding, still confused by her behavior. “Uh, Agent Hawthorne at the Los Angeles field office,” he answered, looking away from her and back at the case files. “He was an agent on the investigation before it got passed on as an X-File. I think he can fill us in on a couple of notes that he might have left off his original report. You know. Because it might have been too _spooky_.”

~~~~~~~~~

The Los Angeles field office was a white skyscraper by itself with a pristinely maintained front landscaping design. Guards lined each entrance but, with a flash of their badges, Mulder and Scully entered the premises and parked in the agent allotted spaces near the main entrance. The interior of the field office was busy as agents scurried past one another with piles of cases gripped so tightly to their chests that their knuckles resembled those of the cadavers Scully performed autopsies on. The rush around them wasn’t unusual, however, and the two agents strolled over to the scattered front desk in search of an Agent Hawthorne. The strikingly young receptionist smiled and pointed them to Hawthorne’s office without delay before speeding back to her station, filled to the brim with LSAT and forensic science textbooks. 

 _An intern,_ Scully thought to herself, making note of the hasty young adult and remembering her own youth, surrounded by MCAT prep-books and, later, FBI recruitment applications.

Mulder, noticing Scully’s stare after the intern, pulled on her elbow to focus her attention on the fast approaching opaque door with the title AGENT HAWTHORNE, SPECIAL AGENT printed onto it.  

Mulder knocked twice on the door, stepping back to allow for a response. The door swung open and a tall, well-built man in his, Scully approximated, early thirties answered. A smile spread across his lips and he opened the door wider as he recognized his visitors. 

“Come in, come in,” Hawthorne compelled them, “I apologize for the mess. It’s a Tuesday and our office is in disarray from all the cases that came in over the weekend.” Hawthorne abandoned his door, making a wide sweep to the right in order to get behind his Bordeaux cherry executive desk that neatly faced the door the two agents passed through and shut behind themselves. 

“No worries,” Mulder responded, taking a seat in the simple desk chairs in front of Hawthorne’s workspace. 

Scully pulled her trench coat closer to her body and sat neatly next to him, getting comfort and crossing her legs before leaning back and perfectly meeting Hawthorne’s navy blue eyes fixated on her. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment and she diverted her gaze, wondering if Mulder had noticed the small tension now present in the agents office. 

But he didn’t. He shuffled the case files in his muscular hands and picked out the image of a young boy, the same young boy that had struck Scully in the airplane. 

“Cody Bruckner,” Mulder began, sliding the polaroid over to an obviously slightly distracted Hawthorne. The handsome agent ducked his head after Scully broke their stare and remained startled by the beauty in front of him. “He’s the kid from Van Nuys, the youngest victim on the X-File my partner and I are working on,” Mulder carried on, “I heard you had some notes on the case that you purposefully omitted from your report. Can I ask you what those notes were and why you chose to leave them out?”

Hawthorne cleared his throat, focusing on the photograph and remembering the child, “Yes, yes,” he stalled, trying to recall the notes, “there was something strange about him the night we found him. His mother thought he got kidnapped and that’s when the local FBI stepped in.” Hawthorne thumbed the picture of the child, “I don’t know how he is now but I remember he was acting almost _otherworldly_.” Hawthorne let the word rest between the agents for a moment.

“Otherworldly how?” Mulder questioned.

Hawthorne’s eyes flicked up to meet Mulder’s for a moment, fear dancing in his eyes. Fear of judgment? Of ridicule? Hawthorne looked down at the photo again, “When we finally found him at the hospital he was, uh, speaking in what you would call _tongues._ ”

Mulder and Scully looked at each other for a moment before Mulder returned his attention to Hawthorne, “The religious tongues?” He asked to clarify.

“Yeah,” Hawthorne nodded, “that’s the one.”

“And you're sure of this, Agent Hawthorne?” Scully spoke for the first time, reeling Hawthorne’s eyes to hers without a moment of lag. She raised her eyebrows in speculation, “You’re sure this couldn’t have been from shock on the part of the boy?”

Hawthorne shook his head, “No, I've worked with religious and cult crimes before. It was tongues,” he stated finally, returning the photo to Mulder and glancing up and into Scully’s mystical blue eyes.

“Okay, Agent Hawthorne, thanks for your discretion,” Mulder stated, getting out of his seat and shooting out his hand, a bit forcefully, over the agents desk.  

Hawthorne, baffled by Mulder’s sudden hurry, rushed to stand and take hold of the firm handshake to return the gesture. Mulder turned on his heel and, with a wave of the end of his trench coat, stepped out of the office. Scully sighed, raising herself to her feet and meeting Hawthorne’s outstretched hand to repeat the same courtesy. As she took hold of his hand, however, the agent lingered, his thumb rubbing the forefront of her hand before letting go.  
  
“I hope to see you again, Agent Scully,” he smiled before planting both of his hands in his suit pockets and leaning back on his heels confidently.

Scully, shocked by the tenderness, raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile and nod before also leaving the office. She could see Mulder at the end of the hall, waiting for her. She approached him, fists in her trench coat and mind still racing about Agent Hawthorne.

“So,” Mulder began, flipping through the files and making small notes with a pen, “did you give him your number?”

Scully froze, a knot forming in her throat and in her stomach as she looked up at him, “What?” She choked out. Was it that obvious? 

“Scully, the man was head over heels for you,” Mulder responded, closing the file, clicking his pen shut and folding both away under his coat before proceeding towards the exit. “Another second and I thought he'd propose,” he scoffed.

Scully followed him closely, wanting to protest on one hand but, on another hand, wanting to let the matter rest between them for a moment longer. Was it possible that Agent Mulder, the lone and aloof wolf, was _jealous_? Scully approached the car and opened her own door, crouching to sit down in the vehicle next to Mulder, who had already taken his position as driver. 

“Maybe I will,” Scully answered as nonchalantly as she could muster, staring out the window and refusing to meet his suddenly fragile emotions plastered upon his face. 

Mulder started the engine and let out a deep breath, checking his rear view mirrors before speeding out of the space and away from the field office. This was one place that, if he could help it (and he would), they _wouldn’t_ be returning to anytime soon.


	3. So Close and So Far

The car halted to a stop in front of a dingy old motel and Scully stared at it dismally. The suitcases were still in the trunk and Scully could feel her limbs aching and stomach growling in hunger. The car ride was silent, except for the occasional ring from Director Skinner for updates on their whereabouts. Mulder tore the keys out of the ignition and opened the door forcefully and left the vehicle. Scully sighed, feeling like a reprimanded inferior, and followed suit. She hated this. She hated feeling like she wasn’t his partner when she would indulge herself in a personal moment. He had started the X-Files, it was true, but without her, his crusade could never continue. When Mulder opened the trunk, Scully hand shot out to retrieve her suitcase before he could lift a finger to assist her. She slung the heavy bag over her shoulder and walked towards the dilapidated lobby where an older man sat in rounded glasses, reading the sports section of the New York Times.

“Two adjoining rooms,” Scully requested, sliding the Bureau issued credit card towards the man, “one for myself, and another for my partner.”

The old man, not lowering his newspaper to meet her eyes, responded, “All out. Only got one, sweetheart.”

Scully flinched. One? Well, they’ve made it work before. “Does it at least have two beds?”

“Nope. It’s a single,” he grumbled, flipping the page of his newspaper and making it look like the most strenuous task of his life.

Scully heard the door shut behind her as Mulder stepped inside, rolling his suitcase over the hardwood floor and halting it near her heel. “What’s going on? Where’s the keys?”

“There’s only one room left, a single,” Scully responded, slightly turning her profile towards him, but choosing not to meet his eyes.

“Do you want to go to another motel?” He asked in a caring, puppy-like way.

Just as Scully was about to raise her eyes to look at him, the old man sounded into the small lobby from behind his article, “’Nother motel is 'bout a 30 minute drive.”

Scully groaned, feeling the weight of another journey too difficult to bear.

“We’ll just take the single,” Mulder answered for them both, noticing Scully’s card on the counter and sliding it closer to the man.

The man took a deep breath and lowered his paper for the first time, grabbing the card and sliding it through the register before fishing two keys out of his cubby and turning to meet them.  He eyed them for a moment, his gruff eyebrow raised, creating endless wrinkles on his forehead. “You two shouldn’t have an issue sharin’ a bed, I’d think,” he grumbled, handing the card back to Scully with two keys.

Scully accepted the keys and card, stunned. She tried not to look over at Mulder who stood motionless behind her. She gripped the keys tighter in her hand, muttered a silent “thanks” and walked out of the lobby, keeping her head down and the all-encompassing blush hidden. She walked down the hall and over to room 304, halting in front of it and hearing Mulder’s steps approach her as he walked along the hall.

“What’s wrong, Scully? You think he was a little too outspoken?”

She looked up at him, his goofy smile spread across his face, illuminating the boyish spirit within him. Leave it to him to turn an otherwise awkward moment into a joke. She rolled her eyes with a smirk, stuck the key into the lock, leaned against the door, and opened it with a shove. The room was dark so Scully searched for the light switch and turned it on. It was fairly small: a single queen bed, a TV facing it, and an adjacent bathroom. More than enough for one and comfortable for two.

Scully bit her lip. Two. She hadn’t prepared for this. She was under the impression she would be sleeping alone as she had since she first joined the X-Files. It had been five years now since Scully walked into Mulder’s basement office and got wrapped up in his work obsessive behavior. She remembered a time when she proactively fought it: she even went on a date only to realize she’d rather spend the night in the Smithsonian researching a case with the unwanted agent than spend another moment with the stable, but boring, date. But now she could feel herself slowly fighting this reality again. Stability and Mulder were antonyms just as Martyr and Scully were synonyms. She had sex once before she learned of her cancer and that was after a four year dry spell. What was she holding out for? She knew. She repressed it often but it was always evident. She was waiting for the moment Mulder would tell her the truth, the truth that _she_ was hoping was out there about them. But it never came. Her hope was rekindled when she laid in her hospital bed, her eyes hollowed in from sleepless nights spent thinking about her end. But her devastation and cure came and went and Mulder never confessed. _Maybe there’s nothing to confess_ , and although Scully said it to herself, she wanted to believe it, too. She dropped the bag on the floor by the bed and fished out her silky pajamas for which she hadn’t brought undergarments.

“I’ll go change, I guess,” Scully muttered, retreating into the bathroom and leaving Mulder by himself in the bedroom.

He rolled his suitcase to the other side of the bed from where Scully had left hers, assuming that this was her and his way of coyly choosing a side. He tore his shoes off and landed onto the bed, leaving room for Scully, but also spreading out. The words the man in the lobby said to them rang in his ears. _If only it wasn’t this way_ , he thought to himself, lacing his fingers together on top of his chest as he heard the sink run in the bathroom. He blamed himself for it, and for everything he put Scully through. At first he saw her as a spy: a beautiful and intelligent spy but a ploy, nonetheless, sent to destroy him. It turned out she wasn’t sent to destroy the X-Files as he had originally presumed, but she ended up destroying him anyhow. He fell for her but he also hurt her constantly. He put her into dangerous situations with every case, he ruined her personal life, he was the reason she got cancer and, unbeknownst to her, would never have children. Mulder rubbed his forehead and ran his fingers through his dark eyebrows. She deserved more. She deserved to be relieved of the burden that he was.

The door swung open and a comfy Scully emerged, hugging her discarded pantsuit to her chest and shuffling, in her oversized blue silk pajama set, to her bag. He watched her carefully, the sleeves of her pajama blouse too long for her short arms and her pajama pants trailing slightly behind her well-manicured feet. He smiled.

Scully dumped her clothes into her bag and looked up at Mulder, who was smiling contently at her.

“What?” Scully asked, instinctively, crossing her arms over her chest to hide her freed femininity.

“Aren’t those pajamas a little too big for you, Scully?” He asked nosily, crossing his hands behind his neck, his arms flexing.

Scully diverted her gaze, she could easily be caught distracted if she spent a moment longer looking at him. “I like to sleep comfortably,” she responded simply, walking towards her side of the bed and neatly pulling the covers back. She would admit it: she was stalling a bit.

“That’s fair,”  Mulder responded, looking away from her and staring at the wall. He looked down at his jeans and t-shirt and yawned. He was feeling too tired to change but he knew Scully would be frustrated by him sleeping in jeans. Then it hit him. He never brought pajama pants. 

Scully sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly slid herself up the mattress and leaned her back against the fluffy pillow, making sure to keep an appropriate distance from Mulder.

“Hey, uh, Scully?” Mulder began, a nervous tone present in his speech.

“Yeah?” Scully responded, letting her eyelids flutter closed as she relaxed.

“I, uh,” Mulder shifted his weight, “didn’t bring any pants to sleep in,” he said, finally and quickly.

Scully’s eyes shot open and she narrowed her eyebrows as she looked over at him from her pillow, “You didn’t _what_?”

“Did not bring pants,” he repeated, “to sleep in, of course.”

Scully opened her mouth to respond but the words refused to form. She had many questions, first being: Why? But she could guess the answer. Neither of them had anticipated this predicament and he was accustomed to a different attire at night. Not that she had an issue with that alternative attire, in fact she would welcome it even now if circumstances were different.

“I could just take the floor,” Mulder offered.

“No," Scully shot back immediately, “no, it’s, um, it’s fine.” 

“It’s _fine_?” He asked, seeking clarity. 

“What do you, um,” Scully searched for the right words, “you've got covers, it's fine.”

Mulder nodded briskly, getting up out of the bed. He flicked the lights off and retreated into the bathroom to wash up. After a few minutes, he emerged in his t-shirt and boxer briefs and slid into his side of the bed. He could hear her breathing, slow and deep and assumed she was asleep. He laid his head down on the pillow and turned away from her so that their backs faced each other. 

Scully gripped the corner of her pillow tightly and she felt the shift in weight on the mattress as Mulder joined her. She took slow breaths, trying to calm her speeding heart. She could feel the warmth from his body radiating onto her back. He was so close to her that a small shift in either of their positions would bring them together. But she didn't dare to move. 

This would be a long night.


	4. Another Day On The Job

Mulder awoke to the light shuffle of Scully’s heels on the cheap carpeted motel floor. He rubbed his eyes lazily and took a deep breath before the blurry redhead focused in his sights. She turned her attention to him from her overnight bag neatly packed on the coffee table, the manila case file held tautly in her manicured hands. Her gaze was expressionless and professional as it settled on his from across the room. 

“Guess I won’t need to check your pulse after all,” she deadpanned. 

Mulder chuckled, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the rickety bed.

Scully’s eyes widened slightly at Mulder’s quick movement. He had evidently forgotten the slight dilemma from the night before. She didn’t remember falling asleep but distinctly remembered waking up centimeters from his face before hurriedly scrambling out of bed. She respectfully turned back to her bags and bit her lip shyly. “I assume we are paying Cody Bruckner a visit today?”  
  
Mulder stretched his arms from his seat and rose to his feet, looking over at her and realizing her politeness. He was obviously making her uncomfortable and mentally kicked himself for doing so. “Yeah,” he replied, grabbing his suit off the top of his luggage adjacent to the bed. “We’ll have to give Cody’s parents a quick call before we head out there to see him," he stated as he made his way towards the bathroom.  
  
Scully furrowed her eyebrows, still rummaging through her bag. “What happened to dropping in unannounced like we usually do?”

“Oh, we will,” Mulder called, now from inside the bathroom with the sound of the rushing sink and the clatter of a toothbrush in the background. 

“Mulder, I’m not following,” Scully replied frankly with a sarcastic tone. “How do you expect to announce our arrival but also not?”

“Because, Scully,” he replied, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorframe, a sudsy toothbrush hanging out of his perfectly plump lips, “we’re not visiting them.”

Scully cocked her head slightly. Her lips were parted, eyebrow raised, and she was ready to question him. 

“We’re just getting their permission to visit Cody unannounced in the principal’s office. All aboard, Scully, we’re taking the school bus today,” he teased with a smirk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully’s breath hitched in her throat as the car lurched to a halt in front of The Buckley School. She watched as the small elementary school students held the straps of their backpacks tight with their two small hands. Their uniform red polo shirts created a striking, but refined, image against the beige and orderly campus. 

“Talk about a campus,” Mulder muttered as he pushed the dilapidated door of their rental vehicle open and swung his long leg out. 

Scully nodded briskly and followed suit, silent from the awe she was experiencing. Mulder was right. The campus was a sight to behold and it astonished her that such an institution housed such a young demographic when it could easily be mistaken for a university. The two agents made their way towards the center of the campus where Cody’s parents promised he would be by noon. Thankfully, the boys parents were not hesitant to agree to the meeting, even if they questioned the level of openness Cody would exhibit without them present. Mulder, however, did not seem to worry about it. 

“Just have to appeal to his discomfort,” Mulder replied to Scully when she voiced a similar opinion as Cody’s parents in the car. “Think about it, Scully, when you were a little girl and two adults told you your secret was safe from your parents. Didn’t you give more information?”

“I guess, Mulder, but some kids are shy and closed off,” Scully replied. “And, besides, when I was his age I would’ve been horrified of being called into the principal’s office.”

“So, you were a good little Catholic girl, then?” Mulder inquired, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

Scully licked her upper lip in thought. A small smile crept onto her face. “Well, at seven, sure,” she replied. 

“ _Oh?_ Only seven?” He gave her a quick glance over his shoulder, the world speeding by in the background of his nicely tousled brunette hair, “What about eight? Nine? Ten? Elev-“

“I can assure you the phase was fleeting,” she answered cryptically. Which phase? Mulder thought to himself, the goody-two-shoes one or the rebellious one? He was intrigued, as he always was about Scully’s past, but he decided to drop it before it seemed like he was prying.

“I’m just saying, I think we can get some unfiltered answers.”

And now here they were. The young, scrawny Cody sat before them in a bleak and unoccupied office room in the main building. The boy, too small for the adult sized chair he was seated in, swung his legs in the air and kept his hands neatly in his lap. He was comfortable, attentive, and surprisingly responsive to the two agents, obviously considering the meeting far more casual than it was.

“Hi, Cody,” Mulder began, crouching in front of the boy with a grin, “how’s school going today? Anything exciting?” 

Cody shrugged quickly, kicking his feet in the air and stealing a glance at Scully leaning against the back wall with a serious expression, “Am I in trouble?”

“No, no,” Mulder quickly replied, shaking his head, “just wanted to ask you a few things about that night you played Charlie, Charlie.” Mulder softened, “Do you remember that night, Cody?”

Cody shook his head quickly, “Nope.”

Mulder turned his head to meet Scully’s eyes but, as he did, she moved forward and likewise crouched in front of Cody. 

“Do you remember how you got those scars on your ribs, Cody?” Scully asked the boy softly. 

Cody met her crystal blue eyes and shook his head slowly. His feet stopped kicking and slowed to a gentle rocking motion. “Mom and Dad told me I was in the hospital.”

“You were,” Scully answered, folding her hands on her knees. “You went there yourself, Cody, do you remember that?”

Cody shook his head again.

Scully sighed and stood up, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. Mulder looked into the boys eyes and, for a moment, he saw the darkness of the boys pupils dilate until it swallowed his irises. Mulder blinked and the image was gone. He was once again met with the young, innocent face. 

“Can I go back to class now? We’re making a shoebox fish tank!” Cody said joyfully, displaying his toothless smile.

Scully smiled and Mulder chuckled. “Yeah, go ahead, have fun,” Mulder replied, seeing Cody out the door before turning back to Scully.

“I have a theory,” Mulder began.

“I’m sure you do,” Scully replied, nonchalantly, “as do I.”

“Oh, do you now?” Mulder raised his eyebrows and placed his hands on his hips. “Well, Scully, by all means, then.”

“Selective amnesia from trauma,” Scully answered, “medically speaking, of course. There’s no doubt the boy was in the hospital.”

“But how did he get there,” Mulder replied, phrasing it more as a statement of speculation than an inquiry.

“I assume that’s where your theory steps in.”

“I think he was possessed and that he still is,” Mulder replied, bluntly.

Scully paused, craning her neck forward slightly, “Possessed?” She pointed at the closed door Cody exited through, “ _that_ little boy? _Possessed?_ ”

“There was a moment — you didn’t see it but I did — where his eyes,” Mulder now made an expanding motion with his hands, “did this..  _woosh_.” 

“Please,” Scully replied, sarcastically, leaning back and elevating her chin, “explain the scientific nature of the _woosh_.”

“His pupil… It grew and grew and kept growing until it was about to darken his whole eye. If I hadn’t blinked-“

“If you hadn’t blinked, what? His eyes wouldn't have returned to normal? Mulder, you can’t seriously sell me that that innocent, sweet little boy is under the control of some demonic force.” 

“But what if it’s lying dormant inside him? What if it wasn’t Cody who went to the ER that night? What if it was Charlie? And now Charlie lies in wait?”

 Scully scoffed and crossed her arms, “In wait for what?”

“The next game.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was well into the afternoon when the two agents pulled into the Bruckner’s driveway, past the gate that guarded their property. Scully leaned forward from the passenger seat to get a better view of the large single family home. It was immaculate, private, and evoked a sense of comfort in Scully. The grass was kept short and neat and potted plants lined the walkway symmetrically. Scully stalled for a moment before exiting the vehicle, her thumb resting on the handle and her teeth biting her lower lip. Although the house was grander than what she had ever envisioned for herself, she found herself taken with the scene and, for a moment, indulging herself again in a reality not her own. She sighed and opened the car door. Perhaps it would serve her better to tread cautiously about her innermost desires, she thought as her gaze landed on Mulder waiting for her at the end of the walkway, since they were so far out of reach.

“Nice place, huh, Scully?” He asked as she closed the distance between them, accompanying him dutifully as usual to the front entrance of the Bruckner’s home. “I like those, uh, gates,” he added, “reminds me to cash in on that if I ever settle down.”

“ _You?_ A gates kind of guy?” Scully asked, slightly astonished, and looked up at his face.

“What?” Mulder smiled down at her, “You don’t think I value that sort of luxury?” They stopped in front of the white front door and Mulder reached over to land two hard knocks upon it.

“I didn’t think you ever considered settling down, Mulder,” Scully answered, focusing on the door and feeling his eyes burning into her profile.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, hearing the footsteps behind the door and the clanging of keys, “with the right person—” he began until the door swung open and interrupted him.

“Oh!!” The approximately thirty something woman exclaimed, holding a dish towel between two wet hands, “You’re the FBI agents! Come in, come in,” she shuffled them inside, closing the door quickly behind them, “Cody told me you two visited him today and he kept referring to you as the ‘tall poofy hair man’ and ‘small red lady’ so I put two and two together when I saw you,” she laughed nervously, wiping her hands.

“Poofy,” Scully echoed, amusement plastered on her face as she swung on her heel to look over at him.

“Small red,” Mulder replied, stealing a glance over at her.  

“We did talk to Cody, Mrs. Bruckner,” Scully began, turning back to the woman, “but unfortunately Cody says he doesn’t remember the night at all. Not the game, not the trip to the ER, nothing. Do you know why that is?” 

Mrs. Bruckner sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “You know, it’s strange,” she began, running a hand through her shoulder-length brunette hair.

“What is?” Mulder asked. 

Mrs. Bruckner brought her fingertips down to her mouth and began chewing on her nails, “I just don’t know. When we got to the hospital, he didn’t remember anything, but then…” She trailed off, evidently being selective of what she was going to share.

“But then?” Scully prodded.

“He has.. _moments._ Of remembering, I mean,” she met Scully’s stare. “And…with such detail, too, you’d be blown away. He’s only seven but… His memory of that night…” She trailed off again.

“What is it, Mrs. Bruckner?” Mulder pried, moving closer to her, “You can tell us. There isn’t anything to fear.”

“Well,” she began, looking worried and bothered, “his memory of that night is…” she took a deep breath, “it’s not the memory a little seven year old boy would have.”

“How do you mean?”

“He tells me exact directions of the route he took to the hospital. I mean, down to the coordinates on a map,” she replied, “what little boy even knows the names of streets, you know? But he’s telling me the distance, the longitude, the latitude, and then, as if it was just a spell, he forgets all of it seconds later. Tells me he has no recollection of the conversation.” Her eyes flicked between the two agents rapidly, “I just thought, you know, maybe it was trauma…like, a leftover PTSD type trauma from that night but…”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Bruckner,” Mulder reached his hand out to touch hers and the woman nodded fervently, wanting to believe him.

Suddenly, Scully’s hand lightly grazed Mulder’s outstretched one, as if to signal that it was time to make their leave.

“Thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch,” Mulder stated, receiving Scully’s message loud and clear. Communication of that which is unspoken, he thought to himself. Only with Scully.

Mrs. Bruckner saw them out, wiping the tears that had formed in her eyes while recounting her son’s mental state. 

“I’m telling you, Scully,” Mulder began as they walked towards their rental out of earshot, “ _possessed._ ”


End file.
